


Positive Reinforcement

by Eerie



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: M/M, Slash, Smut, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eerie/pseuds/Eerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bunny and Raffles are safe from the long arm of the law once again, thanks in no small part to Bunny’s improved acting skills, and for once Raffles decides to show just how grateful he really is.</p><p>Takes place directly after “A Trap to Catch a Cracksman.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Positive Reinforcement

“Oh, and come round again for a late breakfast, old boy! I’ll want to hear every last detail,” Raffles called out as an afterthought to my retreating back.

I smiled up at him over my shoulder one last time as I descended the Albany stairs, setting his perfect countenance firmly to mind. Though I was sure I would have few if any issues with my fabricated account of the night’s events over at Scotland Yard, I knew that the image of Raffles that morning—his complete and rare warmth of affection and approval for me positively radiating from him—would bolster me up should I need to call upon the confidence. Though to be honest, that picture was a treasure second only to one that I should keep locked up in my secret heart for the remainder of my days.

The morning promised to be fair as I reentered my hansom waiting at the curb. We drove through Piccadilly toward the police station, and I was already in a far better mood than I had been not but an hour ago. Raffles’s Sullivan was all the more savory for it, and I smoked it with the appreciation of a perfect reward as the carriage rattled onward.

As I’d hoped, I was not even the slightest bit nervous as I relayed my story to the constable sitting behind the large desk. I duly repeated a summary of the tale I had told the inspector and the rest of the throng countless times earlier at Maguire’s—how I had been “drugged” by the boxer’s burglar trap with the rest of the lot after being called away from home so the culprit could rob us both on the same night—before I launched into a description of the “family valuables” that had been taken from my flat. Naturally Raffles was that very culprit, and it was he who pulled the _coup_ and saved both our skins by removing incriminating evidence from my rooms—affecting a burgled look by strewing things around in the process (though why he had felt the need to go through my dresser drawers to scatter clothing as well, I can only guess). Raffles, a genius in his improvisational solutions as always, would forever find ways to astound even me, who knew him so well.

I had rehearsed my lines in my head only once on my way to the Yard; such was my confidence in myself. They poured out over my tongue like liquid silver now. I imagined Raffles in that room with me as I spoke, sitting by my side, doing his wonderful best to conceal his proud smile for me. I was his understudy no more, but a self-sufficient, competent partner to match his own level of integrity. A man cut from the same cloth: not made an accessory, but into his own fine garment! I positively glowed inside, and it took no small effort to tamper my emotions down so that I appeared suitably distraught for my scribe. In less than half an hour, the police were satisfied with what I’d given them and I was a free man once more.

Upon leaving the building, I started at a jog through the lightening morning with even lighter feet back toward the Albany, eager to tell Raffles how perfectly I had performed. Oh, if only he could have seen me! He would certainly agree without a doubt it had been my golden hour at last. A hansom slowed down hopefully by my side, but I waved the driver on. It was as fine a morning for a walk as any, and I could use the means to burn up my excess elated energy. I didn’t even care as the scattered early morning errand-goers openly gawped at my evening attire, which was admittedly a sight to behold in its rather disheveled state. I simply touched my hat’s brim and smiled as I passed, fighting the urge to whistle audaciously as I made my way through the city.

Raffles answered his door soon after my enthusiastic rap, a Sullivan in his long fingers and smoke gliding out from his still-quirked lips.

“Well, you’re back rather quick! Not so difficult a task after all, I take it?” He moved aside to let me in.

“I should say not!” I answered heartily as I shouldered past him. “I knew there would be nothing to it.”

I moved into the sitting room, where the smell of coffee greeted me. I was not the least bit tired after my sleepless night anymore, but if even a tendril of fatigue touched me, it was swiftly chased away by that deliciously bitter aroma. My stomach growled after it and the lack of sustenance after a long night. 

It was then I noticed the swag now resting out in the open on the side table: the gold brick, the silver statuette, and the prizefighter’s jeweled belt.

Raffles followed me into the room after bolting the front door, and offered me another cigarette from his case. I obligingly took one and moved to get another closer look at the haul that had caused us so much trouble last night.

“So. No hitches whatsoever? Not even a hiccup? Why, Bunny, you do continue to impress me.” Raffles looked at me in that way of his: lowered lids, smoke curling about his face, an amused smirk on his otherwise firm mouth. It was a look that made me feel transparent, laid out bare to him—every single time. However, on this occasion, something more than just the additional pride lingered in his expression. Or so I thought. I couldn’t lay a name to whatever it was, though it effectively killed off my interest in the treasures’ finer details. I was instead consumed with nothing less than joy at his praising attentions.

“It was amazing. If only you could’ve seen me, Raffles!” I cried, for I could not disguise my exultation. “It really is a shame you couldn’t have been there.”

“Yes, I quite agree.” And Raffles reached out to take and press my free hand firmly in his own against his heart. I could feel it even through his warm fingers, and I imagined its heavy tattoo matched the pace of mine in that moment. 

Then Raffles lifted my hand away and slightly upward before faltering and releasing it altogether as he turned to fix me a cup of coffee. Perhaps it was simply my imagination at work again, but I was convinced for that mere second he had designs to lift my hand to his lips. But to my admittedly occasional dismay, Raffles was not often in the habit of making any sort of open gestures of affection.

I cleared my throat in an effort to ease a bit of the tension that had inexplicably descended upon the room before I decided to narrate a list of my stolen heirlooms once again for Raffles’s benefit. His smile returned as he handed me my coffee. He laughed at my enthusiasm and the liberties with which I took to describe my most cherished items, and I was more than happy to hear that sonorous sound again.

“Well done indeed, old chap!” Raffles said once I had finished. “Couldn’t have done it better myself. We’ll make a regular thespian of you yet.” 

I grinned at him; I couldn’t stop myself from doing so when he complimented me. He seemed to scrutinize me in that moment as well, though, and I watched with baffling transfixion as the tip of his tongue glided thoughtfully over his lips before he spoke again.

“It was a brave thing you did, Bunny,” he said, in a much quieter tone. “All of it. I really don’t know where I should be if not for you.”

“Probably a hospital bed if it were up to Maguire!” I said in a rather forced joking manner, suddenly uncomfortable with what I perceived as sadness in Raffles’s voice.

“Yes.” Raffles rubbed at his ribs, which had recently been given a good kicking by the hulking brute.

“ _Are_ you hurt, Raffles?” I asked, though doubtlessly too late. In fact I am ashamed to say the thought of his sustaining real injury hadn’t crossed my mind since I found him lying senseless on Maguire’s floor.

“Hm? Oh no, no. Just a bruise or two. Nothing a good wink of sleep won’t fix.” He stood and set his half empty cup down before exiting toward his bedroom. “Now, I believe a change of clothes is in order.”

“You want to go now? Then I suppose I should return home for a quick bath and a fresh kit.”

“No need!” he called from within.

I frowned toward the sound of his voice. Raffles reentered the sitting room with a small pile of clothing in his hands: a tan tweed suit, fresh shirt and collar, and a bowler that I recognized as my own.

“Raffles! When did you—”

“I took the liberty of acting on a little foresight while I was looting your rooms.” He winked and tossed the clothes at me. “Killing two birds and all that.”

I admit I felt myself blush like a fool when I discovered a change of underpants tucked between the jacket and the folded trousers. Imagining Raffles selecting them from my combinations drawer hit upon my mind rather vividly, though I honestly had no idea why such a thing would affect me so. Was it simply the invasion into my private drawers? No, that was not it. Perhaps it was the very fact that he had handled them, these things worn to intimate familiarity with my body alone.

“Hop to it, rabbit,” he urged as he returned to his bedroom. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.” He suddenly rounded and poked his head around the doorframe. “Unless you’re quite in need of that bath first? I can run one, if you like.”

I wouldn’t look at him out of embarrassment for the heat in my cheeks, but he must have seen my hesitation. I cursed my wandering fancies; certainly my lack of sleep was getting to me after all.

“Something wrong? You disagree with my selection? While I admit I hadn’t much leisure time for choosing, I do happen to know that one suits you rather charmingly.”

“N-no. I just,” and suddenly I realized he had expected me to get undressed where I stood, which, under normal circumstances, would neither be altogether strange nor cause me undue anxiety. We’d dressed and undressed in one another’s presence countless times in a variety of instances. And yet a stiff sensation stole over my limbs from out of nowhere. “I think perhaps I will have that bath!” I suddenly blurted out.

Raffles merely shot me a quizzical half-smile and stepped past me toward the outer hall that led to the bathroom. “As you like.”

The muffled sounds of turning taps and running water followed soon after he’d disappeared around the corner. When he’d returned, he was holding a bathrobe out to me. His bathrobe.

I felt myself smile despite myself as I set my clothes down on the chair and take what was offered to me. “Thanks, Raffles.”

“Not at all. Take your time.” Raffles refilled his coffee and, without another word, exited to his bedroom once again. This time he shut the door behind him.

I wondered at his behavior, but wouldn’t even know where to begin to unravel what could possibly be going through that mind of his. So I decided to leave it, and made my way into the bathroom where Raffles’s claw foot tub steamed welcomingly. I closed the door behind me and stripped off my clothes after hanging the robe on the door hook, glad to finally be rid of my evening attire. Setting my cufflinks and shirt studs on the edge of the sink, I gave myself a critical look in the mirror. I could have done with a shave, but honestly I was in no real mood to exert the effort. Besides, Raffles’s shaving kit was in his bedroom, and I thought it best to leave him to whatever devices occupied him at the moment, especially if he had inexplicably slipped into one of his patented foul moods.

The morning sun filtered through the window’s frosted glass in muted hues and fell invitingly upon the water before me. Instead of waiting for the tub to fill all the way, I stepped into it and lowered myself down to begin working at my skin with the soap. I had already finished the job by the time the water was nearing the tub’s ledge, but I didn’t close the taps until that point.

The hot water felt so good on my tired skin that I was content to lean back and allow myself just a few selfish moments to simply relax with closed eyes within that particular comfort. Risking Raffles’s ire at being delayed from breakfast was then the farthest concern from my mind. I may or may not have dozed off, but if I had, it could not have been for more than fifteen minutes. The water was still warm when I heard the doorknob turn and the hinges creak unannounced behind me.

“Bunny.”

I sat up, fully awake and sloshing water over onto the floor with my action, and my head instinctually swung round to face him. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

For a moment Raffles just stood there in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, leaning against the doorjamb with crossed arms, looking back down at me. His mouth was a firm line, but his eyes sparkled with that same indecipherable emotion from earlier. Then he unfolded his arms and stepped fully into the bathroom. I fought the ridiculous urge to cover my nakedness, for it surely could have been seen in its entirety from his new vantage point at my back. I opted to grip the edges of the tub instead.

“I think it’s very important that you understand just how marvelously you’ve performed today. And that, even beyond repaying any turns you may owe me, you deserve suitable rewards for such things.” 

He knelt on the floor at the edge of the tub and gazed so steadily into my eyes I was helpless to reply or look away. His hand had found its way toward my face and only when his fingers touched my cheek did I realize I had been holding the air in my lungs. Yet I had only managed to exhale and pull in one shaky breath before Raffles had leaned over and closed the short distance between us, his lips brushing against mine softly, slowly, but briefly. He had suddenly stopped, his swirling breath the only sensation in the wake of the previous, and I dared not open my eyes to meet his for fear of what I would find there. I was convinced he had changed his mind, would pull away upon realizing just what he was doing, but then his open mouth fell against mine in a far rougher manner than I could have anticipated. His hand had moved around from feather-touching my face to find a firmer hold at the back of my neck, where he ensured I would not be able to pull away. I am not certain I would have, in any case.

When he tilted his head and pressed into me harder, his tongue slipping in between my lips and delving deeply into my mouth, my body quickly responded. My back arched slightly against the wall of the bathtub and my left hand had found its way to his cravat, wherein my fingers interlaced and held on tight. My right hand fell into the water to meet my already-erect flesh. 

Oh yes, I had wanted this. For so long I had told myself otherwise, mentally chanting a feeble litany of excuses why I should never want this, but every last one of those excuses was a lie. I loved Raffles. That was no secret. But I also desired him. So much, and for so long; so many years, it simply hurt too much to allow myself even the tiniest indulgence in the fantasy that he might also love and desire me as well. And it was wrong, in so many ways. Yet now that it was upon me—that _he_ was upon me and making me so hot and desperate with just a kiss I could simply burn out and die from it—I could scarcely command my actions apart from just holding onto him. And if there was any chance that my soul was not yet damned before this moment, nothing could have induced me to care.

But his eyes must have been open, or he had sensed what I was doing, for he had suddenly let go of my neck and thrust his arm—sleeve and all—into the water to seize my wrist instead. 

“No,” he said against my lips. I whimpered, and immediately felt ashamed of what I had been doing. I didn’t want him to think me so ungrateful, but I also couldn’t deny that I longed to be touched there, where it ached so badly.

“Please,” I whispered, and finally found the courage to look at him. His face was close, so close; I had never seen his eyes the way they looked at me right then. Though my pulse had sped up as soon as he had entered the bathroom, had first touched me, it felt as though my heart would simply stop in that moment. Those blue eyes were colder than ever, veritably glittering with pure, frightening intent. It was not malicious, I knew, but it was so much stronger than anything I had ever seen in them before that I found myself pulling away. My side hit the opposite wall of the bathtub and sloshed more water onto the floor. There was something both familiar and foreign in his face; what I had too late realized was an altered version of his expression when presented with a yawning safe full of diamonds now tempered into remorse at my reaction. 

He stood, and his knees and arms were dark with wetness. “If you wish me to leave,” he began.

It was all I could bear. I hated myself for reacting the way I did, as if Raffles had been a total stranger!

I lashed out an arm and gripped the cuff of his sleeve. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He swiveled his wrist and took my hand, guided me up and out of the water. The air was cold on my skin, and self-consciousness at my very obvious arousal flooded through me. But Raffles pulled me into him, every point of my front colliding with his warm, firm body. He was kissing me again, unconcerned for his clothing sopping up my wetness, and I felt his own hard arousal meet mine with only his now-damp trousers to separate them. His fingers were in my hair, sliding down my back with not-quite-sharp nails, spreading out over and gripping my rear. 

Raffles rested his weight against the wall near the door, pulling me into him, and pressed me from the back hard against his front. His tongue slid lazy deep loops around my own as he ground his hips into me. I moaned into his mouth; I couldn’t stop myself. I’d never felt anything like what he was doing to me and I didn’t want it to stop. But my body began to shiver of its own accord, and I was sure it only had half to do with the chill in the air. 

Raffles pushed me away, gently, and his eyes were dark as he took my hand in his again and turned toward the door. I followed him into his bedroom, not a word spoken between us, and allowed him to guide me to his bed. I obediently climbed onto it, fighting the urge to scurry under the covers, but instead watched as Raffles stripped naked before me.

It never failed to take my breath away to see the stark contrast of his raven black hair and his pale skin, but it was so much more now. It was better by far, even than from the very first time I saw him naked; the most beautiful thing I had seen. Aside from the bouquet of reds and blues that had already blossomed over his left side, that was.

“You said it was nothing!” I protested as I gaped at the bruises.

Mildly amused, or so it seemed, Raffles glanced at his injury and shrugged. “And it is. It could jolly well be worse. Nothing’s broken, at any rate.”

“But—”

“Bunny. Stop worrying. I believe there are more important things to think about at the moment.”

That terribly intimidating, hungry look was back in his eyes as he stared at me, watching my eyes fall from his down to what would inevitably command my attention between his legs. I swallowed, suddenly very, very nervous.

Raffles merely smirked and moved to join me on the bed, pulling down the coverlet as he moved. He climbed over me in a manner that compelled me to move a bit and stretch out on my back against the sheets. He took my hands and raised them up over my head against the pillow, holding them down as he kissed me softer and more gently this time. With his knees he prodded my legs apart to accommodate him, and once I had complied his heat fell flush against me. When he began to move—slowly and with more restraint than I probably could have mustered—his heavy prick sliding against mine, it was all I could do to keep from crying out from the sheer wonderful torture of it.

He broke away from my lips and bit at my earlobe instead, his dark hair tickling my face. “It’s okay, Bunny,” he murmured in my ear, the vibrations of his voice making me shiver to my core, even as he continued moving his hips, “if you want to moan. Or even if you want to scream. You can. No one will hear.”

Pulling himself up a bit, he released my left hand so he could slide two of his fingers into his mouth and extract them wet and glistening in the daylight that fell through the half-open blinds. He didn’t bother asking me if this was fine, didn’t even pause to give me any opportunity to change my mind. If I’d known what brand of pain was in store for me, I might very well have done so.

As it was, I had no choice but to hold onto his murmured encouragements as he gradually penetrated me with those long fingers. It was a strange sensation even outside the pain, and I nearly wanted to take him up on his offer and scream at him to stop. But Raffles was speaking quietly in my ear, praising me and promising me that the discomfort would not last, that soon it would feel amazing. Conflict racked me through; my body pleaded with my mind to put an end to this, but my mind was not listening, and my soul kept drinking in the gospel of my very tormentor’s beautiful voice!

Finally the sensation abandoned me as Raffles withdrew and reached out toward his bed stand. The phial of oil he normally carried about in his burglar’s kit was suddenly in his hand, and I wondered if it had been there the entire time. Yes, it had to have been; I had heard no drawers opening. But that was odd. Had Raffles been planning this entire scenario from the start?

I didn’t have time to think about that. My eyes must have widened ridiculously as I watched him pour some of the substance into his palm and proceed to generously slick his member over, for he paused and visibly fought to control a laugh from escaping his lips when he looked at me.

“Raffles, I…I’m not sure if I can do this,” I said, and cursed the quaver that came through my voice. But I knew what he had intended, and had a fairly good notion of what was expected of me.

He must have certainly taken some pity on me, for his face gradually softened until the amusement there was gone. “My brave little Bunny, but I know you better than to back out of a corner. Certainly it isn’t me you’re afraid of?”

“No, of course not.”

He leaned over me and ran his oiled palm over my softening prick, coaxing it back to life and taking it fully in hand. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut as he fisted it with deliberate care. 

“And, you do want this...” He said it more as a statement than an actual question.

“Yes….yes I want it.” How could I resist him? So caught up in the sensation I had been missing that I had barely noticed as he half-lifted me and positioned the backs of my thighs over either of his.

“Then you have nothing to fear,” he whispered, and trailed his hand downward to guide himself slowly forward into me.

I cannot find the appropriate words to describe how that felt. The sheer physicality of it—a sensation that never seemed to end whether from his slow care or simply from the size of him—and the wavering reality-dream state I found myself floating to and from, made the entire experience strange, unreliable. The physical part was not pleasant, I can at least admit. But that it was Raffles, my own beautiful, perfect Raffles, made all the displeasure endurable. 

He was being kind to me, of that I was certain. He wouldn’t immerse himself any further than he was sure I could handle. By degrees, I found the act more and more bearable. Watching him, his cricketer’s muscles taut and his eyes roving over me as he moved in that controlled manner of his, fixing me with every bit of his attention, was more than enough to keep me aroused even if I did not feel it otherwise. 

“I’m about to go mad, Bunny,” he finally drawled as his eyes rolled back and closed. “I don’t know how much longer I can resist taking you the way I want you.”

He suddenly lifted himself to his knees, taking my legs up with him, and gripping me firmly by the hips drove down into me in such a way that I let out a strangled and broken cry that seemed to leap from the walls. Again he did it, and again, and I was lost to him and his momentum. His pleasure was evident, written into every line of his face, and in my naiveté I wondered why he hadn’t just done this in the first place. A spark had emerged from the dull cloud that had been my end of this affair, and Raffles’s moaning only seemed to intensify it. When he had promised me it would eventually feel good, I couldn’t believe him. I realized with relief that I had been wrong to do so. Or perhaps it was the fact that I could elicit reactions like those he was now displaying. Whatever it may have been, it was exquisite.

When I stroked myself, timing my fingers to Raffles’s thrusts, I knew I would spend myself soon. Raffles’s name became a mantra on my lips between helpless sighs as I worked toward my own summit. It came upon me without warning. I cannot recall what I did—whether I cried out wordlessly or whether I told Raffles that I loved him—only that the world instantly went both dark and bright behind my eyelids as I spilled out over my hand and chest.

Squeezing the backs of my knees hard as he held them apart, Raffles managed to plunge himself even deeper and harder in those final series of seconds. He briefly stilled and I could feel every bit of his release within me; it seemed to go on forever. 

But like all things, it did end. He lowered us both back down, and when he pulled out it was both a relief and a queer feeling of loss. 

Raffles rolled away from me onto his back, and after a moment or two of us both breathing heavily and climbing back down to reality, he stood and made quick work with his hands at his wash bowl before wetting the towel and tossing it at me. The chill of it shocked me, but Raffles exited the room before I could scowl at him. I glanced down at myself, feeling for all the world as if nothing would be better than another bath, but I did my best to clean the mess off of my chest with the towel. I was just beginning the process of lifting myself to make a journey to the bathroom where I could clean up more in privacy, when Raffles returned with his silver cigarette case in hand. 

“You might not want to chance getting up just yet,” he warned cryptically as he lit two cigarettes.

I regretted not heeding his advice. As soon as I got to my feet I was down on the bed again, my legs shaking and my every muscle throbbing as if I had been jumping gates all night.

Raffles hovered over me and placed a Sullivan between my lips before turning to collect his damp clothes off of the floor with an expression of complete distaste. I inhaled my cigarette smoke deep and long; it may have been the finest I had ever tasted.

Content to simply lie there and not think about the inevitable ramifications of what we had just done for as long as possible, I closed my eyes and listened to the rustling of clothing at the wardrobe. The sound of Raffles’s stomach growling broke the quiet between us, and I exhaled a great cloud of smoke in a laugh.

“I did mention how I was wasting away earlier,” he felt the need to remind me as he fastened a pair of sand-colored trousers.

“I’m not sure I can stay awake long enough to get through breakfast at this point.”

“Then go to sleep. Heaven knows you need it. We can lunch at the club later.”

I snuffed out the remainder of my cigarette in the ashtray on the bed stand. “What about you?”

“I’ll just nip out for a bit.”

Our banter was so normal, so casual, it was as if nothing had even happened. I found myself wondering how different things really were between us now. Whether Raffles would ever consent to sharing my company like that again. I could not bear to ask, just as I could not bear to imagine nothing changing for the better in our relationship. As I watched his reflection tie his cravat in the mirror, I felt that old, deep-seated longing within me shaken and indecently hopeful once again. Did Raffles really feel for me what I had for so long felt toward him? Or had this all simply been some kind of perverse “reward,” as he had called it?

“Stop fretting and go to sleep, Bunny.” 

I hadn’t realized I was staring into space, and once again Raffles proved the diviner of my innermost thoughts. And yet he would not answer the question he must surely have known to have been on my mind.

“I’ll be back later,” he said, and gave me a feeble smile as he left the room. 

I heard the flat door close soon after, but I was far too tired to get up once he had gone. My mind drifted off, taking the vestiges of my consciousness with it, and I was lost to blessedly untroubled dreams well into the afternoon.


End file.
